


Tonight

by WizardSandwich



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Grief/Mourning, M/M, idw-ish elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26386318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizardSandwich/pseuds/WizardSandwich
Summary: “Jazz, Prowl is dead. The Senate shot him down.”
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl
Comments: 2
Kudos: 54





	Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> sorry this fic is mostly me dicking around stylistically

Prowl stands out like a sore thumb.

The white of his paint reflects the green and purple lights from a club across the street. His doorwings flutter to the sound of the bass.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Jazz says, by way of greeting.

Prowl turns his helm to lock optics with Jazz’s visor. He hums, the small smile that Jazz hadn’t noticed tugging into a smirk, “Yes, I suppose it is.”

-

The bass drops and so does Jazz’s spark.

He stares down at his servos. The radio fades into the background as he calls up his memories. Orion shuffles uncomfortably but does not leave.

“You know that last thing we ever talked about?” Jazz says, at last, tilting his helm up to meet Orion’s gaze.

Orion’s expression slips into something painful, a regretful remorse that’s fitting for what this has become.

“I don’t.”

“He wanted me to leave with him.”

-

“What are you doing here, Prowler?” Jazz asks, leaning against the wall beside him. He crosses his arms under his bumper to match Prowl’s relaxed frame.

“I’m leaving,” Prowl says quietly. The green light flashes purple as he speaks, darkening his features in a way that would almost be seductive were the situation an different.

Jazz can’t help the surprise that crosses his face. Prowl stares at him expectantly. In the background, a drum beat consumes their silence.

“Shouldn’t be confessing that to me,” Jazz says after a moment. “We both know I’m Prime’s dog.” He doesn’t hold back his sneer.

“If that is what you believe,” Prowl says carefully. “But I know that is not true.”

“Prowl—”

“Come with me.”

-

Orion’s optics bear into him. Horror briefly crosses his face.

“Did you tell Sentinel that—”

Jazz reels back at the accusation. It practically wounds him. “Never,” Jazz spits harshly. “I would’ve never ratted him out. I don’t know how they knew, ‘Rion. He didn’t even tell me until the night he left. But don’t you dare accuse me of something like that again.”

-

“What?”

“Come with me,” Prowl repeats.

Jazz straightens, standing tall as he can. “Prowler, you can’t just ask me to do something like that,” he says, desperation coloring his tone.

Prowl’s deep, deep optics bear into him. They strip him of every component.

“I’m leaving tonight,” Prowl says. “If we’re going, it needs to be tonight. Either way, I will be gone by morning.”

-

“He only told you the night of, correct?” Orion asks.

“Yeah,” Jazz confirms. “Told me to get my aft in gear or he’d leave without me. And we both know how that went.”

“We do,” Orion acknowledges, finally sitting down beside him.

-

“Prowl,” Jazz says, finally saying his true designation.

“You’re not coming?” Prowl asks. Even as his expression falls, Jazz cannot help but notice how his voice dips and matches the beat.

“I can’t.” It’s a copout through and through. But he has his reasons. Leaving with Prowl? It’s a death sentence and Orion Pax still needs him. He promised he’d be there for him. And—

“I see,” Prowl says and his voice is almost cold. Jazz can hear the cracks better than anyone.

“I’m sorry,” Jazz says.

-

“Slag,” Jazz vents harshly, “this is going to sound so slagging cheesy but—”

He cuts himself off, clenching his servos. Thinking of Prowl is an exercise in grief.

“Jazz?” Orion asks, concern lacing that one word like copper in a wire.

“I should’ve gone with him,” Jazz tries again. “At least then we’d be together. He was—my universe, ‘Rion. If we were a song, he’d be my chorus.”

-

“I’m sorry too,” Prowl says, quieter this time.

Jazz can only look down, can only clench his servos. This is an exercise in sparkbreak. He’s afraid that he’ll never recover.

“Jazz,” Prowl says, sorrow lacing his tone like copper in a wire. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad to have known you.”

-

“You loved him?”

“More than anything,” Jazz admits and it feels like finality. He will never be able to fill the void that Prowl’s loss has made in his spark. He’ll never be able to get Prowl back.

-

“I’m glad to have known you too,” Jazz says, because there’s only so many things he can say to this mech.

“I know.”

-

“Did he know?”

-

“Jazz, before I go…” Prowl says, as Jazz turns away.

Jazz turns to look at him for the last time. But he does not know how he will live with the broken expression for the rest of his life.

-

“Yeah.”

-

He’s pulled down into a kiss, a searing thing that steals his breath and his spark and his entire orbit and—

-

“Jazz, Prowl is dead. The Senate shot him down.”

-

Kaon is bathed in shadows. Only the neon lights of bars and clubs light up the streets in the darkness. Jazz fits right in, able to hide himself in the nooks and crannies that fill the streets and alleys.

-

The bass drops and so does Jazz’s spark.

-

Prowl stands out like a sore thumb.


End file.
